distant ruminations

On the way into the market this afternoon I was accosted once again by the little, old but tough lady who tried to persuade me to stock up on haws lest my brain explode in a tangled mess of aneurysm soup.

She saw me coming as I turned the corner and headed down to the main gate of the market, where she was sitting on a stool at a table covered with her pamphlets and medicine. At first all I heard was somebody calling out “Hello! Ni hao!” in a slightly nutty voice, and I thought, oh no, one of them. Again. Then I saw her sitting there talking to somebody. What now? I thought. Is there another fruit with magic healing properties, or is she just determined to get me to buy half a ton of haws?

No, as it turns out, she’s selling medicine at the gate of the market, and she showed me some and told me how great it is for curing any ache or pain. It’s a medicated patch you stick on your skin, and the medicine soaks through your skin and magically cures you. Actually, it sounded like the kind of thing people twice my age (like the good doctor herself) would need. I assured her my health was fine, I have no aches and pains, and I have no need of her medicine. But she had to give me one of her pamphlets explaining all the virtues of her medicine, anyway, and told me to tell my friends. On the pamphlet she’d scrawled her name, 黄大夫/Doctor Huang, and her xiaolingtong and cellphone numbers.

Then of course she asked me if I liked the haws and whether I needed to buy any. She assured me they were only five kuai for 2 jin/1 kilo. I said I’d tell my wife. She, surprisingly enough, was fine with that and let me go on my way.

I mean no disrespect to Dr Huang, and I certainly don’t mean to make fun of her, but this is one of those bizarre experiences you’re guaranteed to have if you stay in China longer than a few hours. I have no idea what inspired Dr Huang to target me. I have no idea why or how she decided I must speak enough Chinese to communicate with her. I can’t figure out why she’s so keen to get me to buy haws (not her own haws, either) or why she decided I or somebody I know must be in need of this medicine she’s hawking. Of course, I’m naturally sceptical of any medicine being sold at a market gate- and not even in a proper stall, just at a table set up at the gate waiting for the chengguan to come and steal all her stuff (and the chengguan are unusually active in this part of town. And no, I have no respect for those thieving scum, regardless of their uniform or what legal powers they think they have). Part of the equation must be that she’s seen me in the market on a regular basis, even though I never noticed her until she told me I needed to buy haws to stop my brain exploding. Well, of course, I tend to stand out in that market, being slightly taller than most and pale-skinned and auburn-haired. Anyway, for whatever reason Dr Huang seems determined to befriend me, or at least to get me to buy somebody else’s haws and maybe also some of her medicine.

Amen. Preach it, brother. Ain’t nothing more manly than a one-speed Chinese bike with a beer basket on the front and a wife carrier on the back.

No, seriously.

Although I disagree with his taste in bikes: For me, there is only one: Flying Pigeon, as in the Big Black Monster variety. The only good thing to come out of Tianjin (apart from Huo Yuanjia and the fast train to Beijing, of course)

Alright, sure, my current bike is a pathetic, little, lime-green fold-up bike that is so weak it came swaddled in bubble wrap, and that is so poorly made that the weight of my tea flask in the basket can twist the handle bars if I turn too suddenly, but it was free and it gets me to and from the office, class and the market. Yeah, it’s fun getting back from the market with full beer bottles in the basket. Go real slow, make no sudden turns.

But still, my dream bike is a Big Black Monster Flying Pigeon, and that is so manly it makes a Humvee look like an item of especially lacy, pink lingerie. Even so, all Chinese bikes make a Humvee look as girly as a canary yellow Hyundai Coupe, which is why I started this post with the word ‘amen’.

In the market half an hour ago, as I was walking away from my beer seller, an old lady grabbed a hold of me and started jabbering away. My reactions were a bit slow, concentrating, as I was, on getting my bike down onto the flat with out the weight of the beer bottles clattering around breaking the basket, but I got my wits back about me and figured out what she was on about.

She looked to be smack on retirement age (which is officially 55 for women in China), and was dressed in a white coat and those funny white hats Chinese doctors often wear. She was telling me that this fruit at the next stall was really good for the health. She said, it’s called 大红果, and it’s good for the blood vessels in the brain and… umm, a million other things that I can’t remember right now. I wasn’t entirely sure of all the medical terminology, anyway. But there I was thinking, isn’t that a haw? How’d it get to be 大红果? And do I look like I’m about to develop some cerebro-vascular disease, or is she just trying to sell me haws, or is she concerned for my health and trying to sell me haws? Anyway, I said, alright, I’ll go home and tell my wife, and if she likes this fruit, she can come back and buy some. No, she was having none of this. She insisted that I take one haw home to try.  So there you go, just by being in the market at the right time, I got one free haw and some medical advice to go with my beers.

But what I can’t figure out is: Why today? Has this old lady seen me around the market and either decide from my frequent presence there or somehow overhear that I speak Chinese, and therefore decide to tell me how great haws are for your health? Or is this the first time she’s seen me and did she just decide to seize the opportunity to sell some haws to the laowai who’s brain is apparently about to explode in a collossal tangle of aneurysms, and assume that because I’m in China I must speak Chinese? Oh well, I don’t suppose it matters, but I don’t recall seeing her around the market before.

I spent a good part of this morning helping some of my colleagues fill in some [unnecessary adjectives removed] registration form for the local cop shop. Why? Because the boss and gk have decided that I’m the only one with good enough Chinese and reliable enough to take on this job while they’re busy with other stuff. They’re mostly right.

[stupid impetuous rant removed]

Well, it was a pain in the arse, but whatever, hopefully they’re happy now. I guess it’s all part of the visa crackdown, but I don’t see how asking people who are already legally registered to register again can possibly help anyone.

Sorry, I edited this so drastically because I was even less happy than the original post than I was to fill out these forms this morning.

I uninstall that gladder add-on, and all of a sudden I get to reap the benefits of that recent unblocking of blogspot. Wikipedia isn’t working, though, but wordpress blogs seem to be open, too. At least, the Weifang Radish is opening proxy-free. Conclusion? Gladder was more trouble than it was worth. Another conclusion? Don’t trust anybody who lives outside China to tell me anything about or make stuff to get around the firewall panopticon.